


Every Romance Needs A Little Rain

by surreallis



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every pairing needs a little smut during a thunderstorm, right? Who am I to buck tradition?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Romance Needs A Little Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiss_92](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kiss_92).



> Written way back in December for the RB gift exchange on LJ.

\+ + +

"This is the worst stake-out ever," she finally says, just to break the silence if nothing else. 

Sam is standing by the window of this... well, whatever. Calling it a 'house' is a kindness, really. They're watching the park across the street where the deal is supposed to go down.

He glances at her and gives her the 'concerned' eyebrows. "It isn't that bad."

She lifts an eyebrow and looks around. They are in an abandoned house, the windows all smashed out, the furniture splintered or gone, except for the table she sits on swinging her legs. She's had to kill three spiders and one... thing... that she isn't even sure of. It's raining and getting toward evening, and Sam has been quiet all day. 

"We don't even have the car radio to listen to," she complains. Her mood has just finally dropped. "And it's creepy."

"The work is its own reward," he says, not looking at her, and he doesn't even sound like he's _joking_.

Then a spider crawls onto his hand, and she has a brief moment of entertainment as he gives a yelp and hits at it, surprised. 

"See?" she demands, pointing at him.

He regains his composure quickly and glares at her. But he thumbs his radio and says, "Detective, there's no sign of this guy. You sure he's coming?"

Jerry's voice comes back, "Yeaaaaah, I think the rain is keeping him away. They either moved the meeting or cancelled it."

Sam's gaze meets hers. "What do you want us to do?" he radios back.

"I'm calling it for the night. Go on home. We'll meet up tomorrow morning and make a new plan."

Andy does a low-key fist pump. _Finally._

"Copy," Sam says, smirking at her.

She hops off the table, more than ready to leave, when a peal of thunder so loud and close breaks over them that it shakes the entire house. 

Both she and Sam jump. 

"Jesus," she mutters. 

Immediately, the rain starts pouring down triple-time, and a moment after that the sharp crack of small hail starts sounding against the walls. Sam glances out a window and shakes his head. "Figures."

Andy groans, along with the house's siding.

"Looks bad," Sam says, jerking back from the window when a piece of hail ricochets off the sill and flies toward his head.

Water begins to drip in through the roof in random places, so Andy shuffles back to the table where it seems to be dry and hefts herself up on it again. Her spirits sink. The car is nearly a half mile away through an open field of grass, hidden from view. 

"Damn it."

Sam shrugs. "It'll pass."

He sits down on an old, overturned refrigerator to wait.

She sighs.

Sam flips his radio to a weather emergency band, and while there's a severe storm warning out, there's no tornado warning. 

She sits and stares at him. 

He stares back.

"What?" she finally demands.

He shrugs. "You started it."

She rolls her eyes. (She gets to do that now.) "You're Mr. Joke-guy in parade," She points out. "So?"

"So what?"

"Entertain me," she orders.

She's joking. Well... half joking anyway. And she's pretty sure he knows that. But he lifts one brow and glances down at his own chest. "Does it say 'bitch' on my uniform some place?"

She gives him a glare, because he's being a killjoy, and also because he knows damn well Traci hates the term 'bitch' and is trying to purge it from their vocabulary. 

"No," she retorts. "But it doesn't say 'funny guy' either, and yet you keep trying to do that anyway."

He narrows his eyes and studies her. "You're a little punchy."

"I'm a little bored."

"Hmm," he hums. And his gaze skims over her face, down her neck. Back to her eyes, where he stares right at her, a slow smile breaking out on his face. Sweat breaks out on the back of her neck. 

"Sam," she warns.

He stands up. 

"Sam," she states, sternly.

He walks toward her. Well... it's more deliberate. It's a... prowl. Or something.

"Sam!"

He walks right up to her, holding her gaze, pushing his weight between her knees until she gives and lets him in. 

"We're on duty," she says, more to argue than to protest.

"Not anymore."

She looks behind him at the window, because this house is so deconstructed that the only thing between them and the rest of the world is a few sheets of plywood and a whole lot of holes. But it's darker here inside than it is outside, and so they are shadowed. Provided there was even anyone outside to see them, which, with the rain and hail pouring down, she doubts. Even if the weather had been perfect, the area is so dead that they hadn't even seen a _car_ on the road to the park.

Sam puts his hands on her thighs and leans until he's nose-to-nose with her. Then he just sits there for a moment, breathing, watching her. 

"They know where we are," she points out. Because, really, after the whole suspension thing, they need to be careful.

"We are off-duty," he says. In that slow, deliberate, soft way he has when he wants to reassure her. "No one cares."

He's right, she thinks. It's just that she feels like she needs to at least make some sort of effort... 

He brushes her lips with his. A quick, warm tickle. 

"Anyone could look in and see us," she says, weakly.

"Mmhmm," he grunts, and then he kisses the corner of her mouth.

"We're in uniform." Kind of. They have on the black cargo pants and black t-shirts of stake-out operations, but not their street uniforms.

He doesn't even bother to acknowledge that statement. He slides his head downward and she feels his mouth, warm and wet, open against her neck. He sucks gently. 

She swallows and every muscle in her body tightens. 

He doesn't move his hands. He keeps them anchored on her thighs, and only his mouth moves slowly over her neck, down her throat, his tongue licking at her skin, warm, leaving a trail that cools in the stormy air and makes her shiver. 

He nudges under her collar and sucks at her collarbone. 

It sends a wave of sparks straight between her legs. Her hands move, almost unconsciously, to his shoulders and then his back, and her fingers curl in. 

"Still bored?" he asks, teasingly, as he lifts his head and gets close to her mouth. 

Ugh. She just wants him to shut up and keep doing that thing. 

"Shut up," she grumbles, maybe a little sarcastically. "And don't stop."

But he grins at her, maybe a little triumphantly, and then he puts his mouth on hers, hard, and kisses her. 

She kisses back.

Then his hands move. Clearly, now that he knows he has her. 

Around her waist, up over her ribs, skimming the sides of her breasts, curling around her neck, thumbs grazing her jaw-line and holding her head so he can get his tongue in her mouth. 

She pulls his hips in close and she loves how hard his back feels. How the muscles flex and turn to stone as he moves. 

He's pulling her t-shirt up out of her pants then, and unbuckling her belt. The thunder is still rumbling above them, and the lightning penetrates, even when she closes her eyes. 

She gets a little thrill each time the lightning flashes. The world outside the windows is revealed in a dull, blue haze, and she wonders if she'll see someone standing there. But she doesn't.

Sam's hands are warm as they run up her bare back. He's leaning over her now, pushing her backwards, and she has to catch herself on her hands or lie down. 

She catches herself, and he's shoving her shirt up, pulling her bra down, getting his mouth on her breasts. Licking at her, biting a little, sucking like he wants to consume her. 

He unbuttons the fly of her cargo pants, slides his hand down inside, and his fingers curl between her legs. She's open to him, with her knees bracketing his hips, and she can feel how easily his fingers slip inside her. He gets her wet like that. 

All the time.

She sort of hangs there for a while, because it feels too good. His mouth on her breast and his fingers inside of her, his thumb finding her clit and pressing down. 

She might moan a little bit, she isn't sure. The thunder takes it away. 

She wants to touch him back, but it's not easy. She's still fighting to stay upright, and she's not sure why. Maybe because with him, it's always a fight. 

She can slide her hand down, yank on his belt, grab him through his pants. He's hard and he presses into her hand, but he doesn't let her up. He moves his mouth to her neck, then back to her mouth, trying to distract. 

She pulls at his T-shirt, above his belt, and he immediately backs off and tugs it over his head. 

Then he's back, but he slows down.

He leans into her, hands flat on the table on either side of her, and she can feel his breath against her neck. 

"Down," he says. Orders, really. 

And she obeys him. She lies back, and he stares down at her with sleepy-looking eyes and a bruised mouth. 

Then he slides his hands onto her thighs again, and grips her hard, dragging her toward him until her hips are nearly off the table. 

In one smooth movement, he's got her pants down to her ankles and off one leg. Then she hears the heavy clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of cloth, and he's leaning over her again, hips pressing forward, until she arches up when she feels him sliding inside of her. 

He moves, and she grabs the edge of the table, anchoring herself. It's a slow thing, and the wind rushes in from the window behind her, blowing cool, rain-tinged air across her bare places. She can hear him breathing hard.

She wraps one leg around his waist, keeping him close, and he leans down over her kissing her for a while. 

Still rocking against her. 

There's a particularly loud crack of thunder that makes them both jump again. And he huffs out a laugh against her mouth. 

"Gets the blood going," he murmurs against her jaw before licking her neck. 

"Like this wasn't enough," she mutters back. But then she moans, because his hand slides between them and finds her clit again. 

And he must be close, because he groans her name and thrusts deep, keeping himself there against her, and his fingers rub against her clit, and all she can do is remember to keep breathing and go with it. 

He moves and moves and she comes with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and her back arching up. And Sam's whole body seems to flex for a moment before he exhales and presses deep inside of her and he groans again and again. 

She collapses in the strength of it, pulling him down with her. He rests with his temple against hers, his breath harsh and hard in her ear. 

When he's recovered a bit, he rises up on his elbow over her and his fingers brush the hair from her eyes. "No regrets," he tells her, softly, like he's making an agreement between them. "I'd never do anything to put your job in danger, Andy."

"I know," she says, although it goes without saying that she does enough on her own in that department. "No regrets."

He gives her a wistful half-smile, and her back is aching now. 

"But," she continues, and he lifts an eyebrow at her, suspiciously. "Nobody better get murdered in here over the next few months because you and I left enough DNA on this table to convict us both ten times over."

He snorts at that, standing up again and pulling her by the arms to get her upright. "We'll just send Luke out to investigate. That'll keep us safe."

"Sam," she says, warningly, shooting him a glare. 

He grins at her, full-on Sam Swarek, charming guy. Even as he's tucking his dick back in his pants and buckling his belt. 

She has to hop around for a moment before she gets her pants back up and her bra back down. There's no way to clean up, and it's going to be an uncomfortable ride home.

When she's set, Sam looks at her and holds his hand out. "Hail's stopped. Looks like the lightning is moving away too. Want to run in the rain with me?"

She regards him a moment before taking his hand. His fingers wrap firmly around hers. "We don't have to run," she says, as they step out into the downpour. "I'm in no hurry."

His fingers tighten around hers. "Me neither."

So they walk.

~end~


End file.
